


Silver Sun, Golden Seafoam

by elzierav



Series: The Monsoon Series [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alpha James Ironwood, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Clover Ebi, Double Penetration, Eventual Smut, Fantastic Racism, First Kiss, Gift Fic, Lucky IronQrow, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Merpeople, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, OT3, Omega Qrow Branwen, Overstimulation, Pirates, Polyamory, Skinny Dipping, Vampires, Werewolves, background ace ops - Freeform, but not graphic, implied attempted rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27959132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elzierav/pseuds/elzierav
Summary: To Clover, James has always been an island amidst the waves, scarred and windswept, carved by the force of the elements, but strong as stone, unbending, unbroken, unbreakable. Clover has witnessed the beauty in being an island, but seldom realises the grace there is in being the ocean, being like the teal waves that ever bend, that ever flow, that sometimes break and sometimes crash into seafoam only to heal and rise again, relentlessly, eternally. Clover just needs Qrow’s bird’s eye view, from the chaotic stormy skies above, to realise that being the ocean is not devoid of beauty.
Relationships: Clover Ebi/James Ironwood, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi/James Ironwood, Qrow Branwen/James Ironwood
Series: The Monsoon Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030227
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SykoShadowRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SykoShadowRose/gifts).



> Happy (belated) birthday Mama Syko! <3 <3 <3  
> I'm an ungrateful child, it took me ages to write this. Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> As a heads up, you probably need to have read the first part to understand this. For warnings, read the tags.

It must be Clover’s luck when his eyes catch a glimpse of something shiny. 

Something shiny, twinkling eerily through the darkness of the cave as the sun nears its zenith, the distant cries of seagulls punctuating the cloudless sky. Something shiny - a sign of human life, maybe. Or perhaps something people left behind, maybe even a treasure, or at the very least some scrap of metal that could prove useful to the Iron Judgement and its crew. 

Clover considers himself lucky enough to have found something, anything at all. He and his crew scoured the seas for days and weeks, to no avail. They combed through a myriad of islands searching for the Captain, searching for the vile creatures that attacked the ship and caused Ironwood’s disappearance, to no avail. They docked near the small village on the other side of this isle. Under Clover’s orders, the pirates had searched the village, the forest, the beaches, to no avail. The acting Captain must be lucky to find even a flicker of hope, a flicker of light.

Clover is lucky, but he must be careful. Drawing his cutlass with one smooth move, he advances with precaution, eyes drawn to the fleetingly brilliant lights amidst obscurity. The cave sits at the edge of the forest, creepers and mosses concealing most of its opening. Pushing the vines aside with the tip of his blade, he steps into the cavern, pupils taking long seconds to habituate to the ambient darkness. 

He has to be careful, for he cannot know who may greet him here - or what. His heart beats frantically at his eardrums amidst the thick silence, only interspersed by the sound of his footsteps on the humid ground, by the shaky resonance of his respiration as the cobwebs languidly sway in response.

A draft of cold air sends the spiderwebs trembling, an icy shiver racing down Clover’s spine. But teal eyes remain resolved, seeking out the twinkling, seeking out the shiny. Squinting through the dark, he distinguishes the outline of a soft shape around the shimmering lights. His shoulders slump slightly - it’s a far cry from a treasure, a motley assortment of metal trinkets, from golden coins to boot buttons and rusty silverware, sprinkled across some old blankets to form a warm bed that somehow reminds him of a nest. 

If there’s a cleanly kept bed, that means humans could have been here not long ago. Fingers tightening around his weapon’s hilt until his knuckles blanch, he steps ahead from one cave to the next.

Soon, the phantomatic silhouette of an old, abandoned ship greets him. The ancient hull is embroidered with seashells, the ragged sails hang off narrow masts like skeletal fingers pointing upward. Behind the boat’s carcass, lulling waves echo. Each sound is menacing, in the stony resonance of the caves into which the ocean crashes, carving its path. Each sound, even the loud thumping of Clover’s heart in his ribcage. Each sound, even the quiet tones of human voices through the semi-darkness. 

“We can hear you coming, you know.”

A male, gravelly, unfamiliar tone, like worn velvet with a sharp, snarky edge. There is something inhuman about it, and Clover wonders if the man - the thing - the creature - can hear his maddened heartbeat. 

“... Clover? Is that what your scent is like?”

James’s voice, causing Clover’s throat to tighten. Recognisable, yet different. A coldness wasn’t there before, smooth, perfect, dangerous. Different, yet recognisable. The same silky, dulcet tones, the same unyielding, unwavering determination. 

Determination to… understand why his first mate’s scent appears different? 

“Jimmy,” the unknown creature rasps, “When’s the last time you fed?” 

“Last night?”

“When’s the last time you smelled human blood from this close up?”

“Not since I was turned into...”

James trails off as Clover carefully steps around the stranded ship to face the alpha - _his_ alpha, _his_ Captain. His blade catches a glimmer of light, and through the obscurity, he distinguishes dilated pupils in recognisable cobalt eyes, amidst the deadly pale features of a face he used to know, a face he used to love, twisted in an indecipherable rictus. 

Then there is a swirl in the water, like a whispered maelstrom, and the creature surges from the sea, snarling, sanguine eyes ablaze. With inhuman strength for its lithe body, the monster easily tosses Ironwood away from the beta, drawing a sharp hiss from the Captain as his back hits the cave’s irregular wall. The tides sloshing around its waist, the humanoid stands tall and threatening, its body forming a barrier between James and Clover.

Despite the look in its eyes, the creature is not human. Gills symmetrically slit its torso on either side, opening and closing slowly as the waves dance. The creature is not human. Silvery scales covering its lower body up to the savage lines of its hip bones, glistening with an iridescent sheen. The creature is not human. Its irises are dappled with a promise of vibrant vermillion and gentle golden sunrises, but it is not not human. 

“How dare you...” Clover growls, lips quivering at the sight of violence inflicted onto his Captain, his alpha, at the mere sight of the ugly scar along his pallid side and the angry marks of shackles at his ankle, at the mere thought that this monster must have kept James captive for all this time. 

Rage simmering through each of his nerves, indignation singing through each of his veins, the beta lunges ahead, his sword pointed straight at the creature’s white throat. Tearing through the darkness, splashing through the water, he strikes. His enemy dodges, but he strikes again. He’s come too far to stop now. 

Nostrils flaring, fists clenched, James can only watch the unusual ballet unfurling before his eyes. An omega and a sympathetic beta, fighting over a proud alpha - Ironwood has faced many a monster, stared in the face of many a myth throughout his life, but this is a sight he never thought he would live to see. 

Clover’s attacks are furious, but precise, powerful, practised, with the efficient violence a seasoned pirate and monster hunter. Each thrust of his long blade pushes Qrow back, evading and dancing through the waves, only leaving swirling seawater behind. James wants to intervene, needs to intervene, but he cannot. He cannot risk standing any closer to the sweet scent of Clover’s human blood, delectable, tempting, alluring… The Captain can barely contain his primal urges, but he needs to, he must, and he will. For the sake of Clover. Of _his_ Clover. 

The beta may be strong and experienced, but against the immortal hybrid, he stands no chance. Clover bends forward in a brutal thrust, but before he has time to react, his opponent’s hand closes around the wrist of his sword hand. A brief tug onto his arm makes the beta lose his balance under his own momentum, lurching forward into the merman’s grip who swivels to manoeuvre him into a chokehold.

The struggle that follows is brief, blissfully brief. Desperately, the swordsman attempts to angle his blade toward his adversary’s arm, but Qrow doesn’t even care. Instead, inhumanly cold lips caress the shell of Clover’s ear - and a murmur comes out. The siren’s song lasts mere seconds, but it is as shrill as all the seagulls over the ocean, as soft as the ever lulling tide all at once. The effects are immediate. The cutlass drops out of the pirate’s hand, clattering uselessly into the water as its wielder goes limp, teal eyes sliding closed within the hybrid’s steel grip. 

“What did you do to him?” James stutters, wide-eyed at the sight of his motionless second-in-command. 

“Nothing dramatic. He’s just asleep, he’ll wake up soon enough.”

Racing through the waves, the Captain lays a careful hand upon his slumbering crewmember’s chest. Relief floods his senses as soon as he perceives a steady heartbeat, a regular respiration. Clover is alive and well, and that is what matters most. There is still an irresistible tinge to the scent of his blood, but James can resist it, James can do the impossible if it means that Clover stays well and alive, because that is all that matters right now. 

With a near-imperceptible swoosh, Qrow shifts into his vampire form. Using their superhuman strength, it doesn’t take long for him and James to carry Clover to the nest, delicately lowering him into the sheets as he exhales a soft snore. Gently, Ironwood runs a hand through the brunette’s hair, rearranging the chestnut curls that had been mussed up in the fight. Qrow watches in silence, a slight frown creasing his puzzled brow. 

Until the Captain catches the omega’s nervous glare and leans in to drop a small peck atop his lips. 

The contact is brief, infinitesimal, a brush of parched lips, a fraction of shared breath. The contact is gentle, incomparably more chaste compared to when they had kissed before, both when James was still human and when he had just been turned into a vampire. 

But there is an electric intensity thrumming through their bond at the touch, conveying all of James’s boundless gratitude for apprehending Clover without harming him, for protecting the human from the alpha’s bloodthirsty instincts, for everything, for the world and so much more, conveying all of James’s respect, admiration, love, adoration, love, still blossoming love, eternal love, as immortal as their entwined souls…

It ends too soon, leaving Qrow frozen in surprise, frozen in disbelief. Frozen in disbelief, but wanting more. 

“You know, Jimmy,” he says with a slow smirk, “if you want to kiss me, at least do it for real.”

A hesitation, a shared glance before their lips meet halfway, kissing again and again, tentative touch after tentative touch until their lips grow emboldened, remaining locked as they touch with both rage and reverence as if to claim eternity as theirs. They kiss as if eternity is not enough, as if they never want to part. 

Only the sound of Clover stirring awake with a weak groan interrupts them, returning their attention to the teal-eyed pirate blinking confusedly. 

“Captain? What happened?”

“Clover, I’m so happy to see you again,” James smiles, wrapping the beta in a tight embrace, but it’s devoid of warmth and it’s wrong, all the lines, all the angles are wrong, like the Captain wants to disengage as fast as possible, as if to avoid temptation. ”While I know you’ve done so much to come rescue me, I do not need to be rescued. Qrow saved me from drowning and tended to my injuries, and I owe him my life.”

“And to thank me for saving him, your Captain fucked me senseless and even left a little… souvenir,” Qrow chuckles, eyes flitting down to the trace of teeth ornating his alabaster shoulder. 

Then, everything clicks. Everything makes sense. The world makes sense.

“You two are bonded,” Clover realises.

“Yes,” James nods.

“Then, Captain, I’m sure the Iron Judgement could do with your bonded mate as a new crew member as long as you explain -”

“That won’t be possible,” his superior interrupts.

“But...”

“I regret it, but that won’t be possible,” the Captain repeats, his solemn features clenched in stoic regret. “Because I won’t be able to come back.”

And then nothing makes sense anymore. James, the James Clover knew, used to live for his job, for his ship and his crew, and hunting monsters and creatures at sea was as necessary as breathing for the Captain. James used to live for all that, James used to be alive… but now, Clover’s hand finds its way up the scarred, sculptural surface of the alpha’s chest - and finds nothing, no warmth, no heartbeat. The skin is as calm as a windless, waveless sea, as still as the surface of a pond.

“Because to save you…” the beta understands, “Qrow turned you into a vampire.”

Ironwood would never be able to step out on the deck of the Iron Judgement under broad daylight anymore. He would never be able to sail for weeks at sea with nothing to feed on but his own terrorised crew. He would never be Captain again, and even if his heart beats no more, Clover can tell how much James’s heart hurts for that reason alone.

“Oh, so your himbo isn’t as stupid as I thought, Jimmy,” Qrow groans in the alpha’s direction. “I was beginning to get worried.”

* * *

“I don’t like the rumours around this village,” Harriet hisses, a grim frown crossing her tawny features as she lifts a heavy crate away from the ship. “Hope we won’t stay here for long.”

“We need to restock provisions,” Vine replies, setting down a pile of wooden boxes on the sandy shore in the shadow of the anchored Iron Judgement. “Besides, the stories local people tell are just that. Stories.”

“Stories strangely similar to the monster we met at sea, that decimated half the crew including Captain Ironwood,” Elm groans, arms crossed before her chest. “And apparently, they may have creatures like that hiding in the village or somewhere on this island.”

“Captain Ebi isn’t back yet,” Marrow says, counting through an inventory of rare sea monster bones, fangs, scales they can sell to the townspeople in exchange for food, water, suppressant herbs, wood and fabric to fix the masts and sails, and other indispensable resources. “Let’s wait for his return and see what he decides. If he’s gone for this long, he must have found something important or -”

“No need to fret, crew,” a familiar voice interrupts, causing the crewmembers to swivel around and face their slightly panting acting Captain running toward the ship. 

“Captain, what kept you away for so long?” Vine asks.

“I found James.”

A chorus of gasp and whispers echoes, followed by silence, anxious silence, weighty silence as Clover steps onto the deck, the crewmembers’ eyes laying heavy on his shoulders. 

“... but?” Harriet expectantly provides.

“He is… injured,” Ebi explains, ”and won’t return as Captain.”

“So you’re Captain now? And nothing has really changed?” Elm wonders. 

The silence has never been heavier. The silence is heavier than the world on Clover’s shoulders.

“No. I’m stepping down as Captain.”

Shock, incredulousness, incomprehension ripples through the crew in the wake of his announcement.

“What?”

“By the Gods!”

“But why?”

“At least, temporarily,” the acting Captain amends hastily, attempting to calm a storm that’s starting to grow, starting to rage. “I merely wish to remain with former Captain Ironwood and… ensure his proper recovery, at least until the Iron Judgement is restocked, repaired, and ready to sail away from this island. Then, we’ll see.”

They’ll see what the storm brings next, what the unfurled oceans and fate can bring next. It has been a hard decision, an impossible decision, but Clover should do the impossible, must do the impossible, will do the impossible for James, because that’s the least he can do. That is the least he can do for the alpha, _his_ alpha, to whom he owes his life, to whom he owes everything, away from whom he cannot imagine spending the rest of his days. 

Because life without James is like the boundless ocean without the sky above it, or like the vast, endless sky without the sea to meet it at the horizon. The sun, the moon, the constellations may revolve in their orbits, none of it would matter, none of it would make sense. Life without James is incomplete, nonsensical when it can be avoided. 

And it can be avoided, if Clover chooses so. Choosing so would be weak, but maybe the brunette can be weak. He is no proud and heroic alpha, perhaps he can be brave enough not to be strong always. Perhaps he can be brave enough to be selfish for once and remain with the man he loves. But the acting Captain also loves his job, loves their proud vessel that James all but entrusted him with and its crew, wishing to leave them within good hands. Clover wishes he had time to decide, but time is running like water as the crew grows restless.

“Who’s gonna be Captain now?” 

“Can I be Captain?” 

“Nah, can _I_ be Captain?”

“Who’s voting for me as Captain?”

“Mutiny!”

“Silence!” Clover bellows. “I’m appointing Marrow Amin to take my place.”

More incomprehension, bleeding into indignation.

“Why him?”

“But he’s an omega?!”

“Damn right, that little bitch could get knocked up anytime...”

“He’s a rookie!”

“And the way he prays alone in his corner with his necklace is creepy...”

“Marrow is the one who chased the beast away, saving my own life and the whole crew,” Clover reminds them as calmly as he can. 

“Yeah, with that heretic little necklace of his,” someone sneers. 

“It is a rosary of the desert faith of Light and Dark,” Vine corrects automatically. 

“Those that believe that there are only two gods are clearly wrong, when the powerful forces of the winds and tide are always contrary, clashing, and competing?” 

“Aye, everyone knows there’s at least a god for every wind from every cardinal direction, and a goddess for each tide and each current, without even counting the moon and stars...”

“Captain Ebi is blinded by the debt he owes the omega for saving his life.”

“Yeah, mutiny! Who’s with me?”

“Uh… I’m honoured,” Marrow mutters, running nervous fingers through his hair, “but Captain? How can you be sure they’ll follow me like they followed Ironwood and you?”

“Because haven’t you all followed my orders for months through storm after storm, and haven’t we hunted down many monsters, looted many treasures, and found Captain Ironwood despite the state of our ship and our reduced crew?”

“But you’re not an omega, Clover,” Harriet interjects. 

“Yeah, betas get the job done,” Elm shrugs. “They don’t go through the rut and heat nonsense.”

“Can you imagine if the rookie was Captain, and then he got in heat?” someone reiterates. “Who would even respect him then, let alone follow him?”

A chorus of chortles resonates, causing Clover’s gut to churn ever so slightly.

“And what happens if he gets pregnant?” someone else reiterates.

“Haven’t you followed me,” Clover repeats patiently, “even though all this time I’ve been able to go into heat and bear pups?”

“Wait, what?” Hare reacts first, incredulousness painted all over her face. 

“We thought you were a beta,” Vine supplies helpfully.

“Sympathetic beta,” Clover rectifies, resting a hand against his hip. “Depending on my mates, I can display both alpha and omega traits, and yes, that includes heat and pregnancy.”

“I thought those were incredibly rare,” Marrow exhales, bewildered.

“I thought those were just urban legends,” someone replies. 

“Liar!”

“You’re lying to defend your protegé!”

“You’re too proud to admit you made the wrong choice!”

“Yeah, that makes no sense!”

“The Captain must be lying!”

“I have to take suppressants for my heat!” the beta protests, fingers fumbling with a pouch of herbs in his coat pocket. 

“Liar!”

“Hypocrite!”

“Mutiny!”

“That can’t be the right herbs. The Captain can’t also be a slut like that, like a lowly omega. Look at him!”

“Aye, Captain Ironwood would never have appointed someone like that as first mate!”

But they won’t look, won’t listen, won’t believe him, and the mixture of dried leaves and algae in his hand are useless evidence. Not only that, but they are useless now if he wants to prove his point.

So he sprinkles them into the wind, that tosses them into the sea below. 

The next day, he does not take his heat suppressants. 

Or the day after that. 

Or the day after that.

* * *

On the island, there is only one small village. In the village, there is only one inn. In the inn, there is only one bar, the only bar on the island. The little girl who helps serve the food and drinks has fiery blonde hair and a metal hook replacing her right hand. She proclaims she has a mean right hook, to which her father chuckles heartily. Her parents run the inn and care for her and her little sister. Since the pirate ship dropped its anchor in the only small port of the only small village on the island, business has been good for the bar. 

So when Clover searches for his crew at nightfall, he knows exactly where to find them. 

He can smell the heat pheromones starting to reek off his skin, practically dripping off his sweaty, burning brow, soaking his grimy garments. He’s certain no one can question him this time. But what will face him when he steps inside, he is not certain, he does not dare to even guess…

Even through the inn’s wooden door, he can hear the loud pirates inside, chattering, singing drunkenly. But as soon as he pushes the door open, the bar falls silent, the inn falls silent, the island falls silent. The scent of him drifts through the air in the confined space, instilling an instant craze that ripples through the crowd.

He does not dare to guess what follows. He does not dare to see what follows. He does not exactly know what follows. 

His vision is a tunnel, the inn is a tunnel, his world is a tunnel. At the end there is light, at the end there is survival. He just has to survive through this storm. He just has to keep breathing, he just has to keep moving. He must do it for Marrow. For the good of the crew. He must do it for them. He must keep moving, keep breathing.

Inhale. There is the sharp scent of alcohol, drunken voices calling him names, shouting names, calling names his ears block out, their sounds as meaningless as roaring thunder. Exhale. There is someone - something? - touching his shoulder. Checking he is real. Checking he is really there, searing, in heat, willing to face his crew. 

Inhale. There are more touches. They are colder than his skin, but they burn, and they hurt. They hurt, but he does not care - cannot care, must he not care… must focus on… Exhale. His clothes are in tatters, someone sitting in a wooden stool lewdly pulls him into a sweaty lap, the scent of rum breathing down the nape of his neck, but already other hands, more hands, too many hands grab him, touch him, want to get a handful of him and then some, and it hurts, but his mind is a tunnel, and in the tunnel he is safe. He can keep going. For Marrow.

Inhale. Dim candlelight illuminates the bar, splotches of yellow and red and gold, as everything dissolves into abstractness before his eyes. He does not see obscene faces, hands, bodies distorted by lust as the pheromones of alpha pirates spike in response to his own. He sees colours, splotches of colours, streaks of colours, and he is safe. Exhale. Dim candlelight illuminates the bar… did someone pour burning wax on his skin? It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. 

It’s too hot. Everything is too hot. Too crowded, no air to breathe, too hot. 

Inhale. There is no air. He cannot breathe. He is pinned down. Shadows dance before his field of vision, before the end of the tunnel. Blocking out the light. The colours. The splotches. Shielding him from the touches, from the blows, from the world…

Exhale. Is someone protecting him? 

Could someone be protecting him?

Why would someone protect him?

There is no certainty. Everything hurts. The world hurts. 

From the corner of his eyes, he catches a sliver of icy blue irises, bewildered, admirative - Marrow? His nostrils scent the intermingled pheromones of a handful of omegas, somehow standing up to shield him. There are more touches, but they are gentle against his thick, burning skin. They are disbelief, they are admiration, they are reaching for a horizon line they could never grasp before now, reaching for one of their own who managed to become Captain, who is risking himself, his life, his everything to prove their kind is just as worthy, touching him to check if he’s for real.

Unfortunately, the sparse barrier of omegas cannot protect him for long. The touches are violent again, and it burns, and it hurts. He tries to draw his sword, but a boot squashes his fist flat, making him drop the blade. There are more blows, more blows than he can count. Shadows dancing against shadows, against the backdrop of wooden table and stool legs and scarce splotches of light. 

And streaks of red, too. 

There is too much heat, too much pain, and soon, too much red. He is barely able to move, barely able to sense anything, see anything, hear anything… Anything but a piercing shriek, shooting pain into his eardrums and leaving but a blood-curdling ultrasound in its wake.

A siren’s cry. Different, but somehow familiar, he somehow figures out at the back of his foggy, pained mind.

He barely notices that everyone in the room is on their knees, holding their ears as if holding on for dear life. He barely notices the clicking of heeled boots as a new presence walks into the room, all but ignoring the pained pirates on the floor. 

Reflexively, Clover clutches his medallion, ready to use it to defend himself and others even if that’s the last thing he ever does. 

Through the dimly lit room, Marrow notices the twinkle of light the pendant produces and likewise reaches for his rosary, running bead after bead between his trembling fingers. 

The clicking of heels pauses right before the two of them, casting a tall, proud shadow. 

With his free hand, the young omega grabs Clover’s fallen sword. Pain ringing through his ears, through his body, he uses it as a cane to prop himself upward, facing the newcomer. 

At that sight, the woman in the high-heeled boots barks out a laugh. 

Her skin is pallid as the moon, her features, framed by ebony locks, bear a passing resemblance to the hook-handed blonde’s. At first sight, her eyes look familiar, but they are as red as blood, and there is no pity or forgiveness in them. Her lips curl up in a smirk, baring razor-sharp fangs. 

Eyes narrowed in ache and defiance, Marrow raises the cutlass - but instead of striking at the woman, he slashes at a nearby table leg, slicing off a length of wood and plunging the tip into a candle’s flame, fashioning a makeshift, still-hot stake that he brandishes toward the newcomer, alongside his silver rosary. 

Crimson eyes flit down to the woman’s scarf, flickering with just a hint of nervosity, before she leans in close and hisses into his ear. 

“Ha, you really think I have time to be here for you.”

Then, she shrieks again, and time freezes. 

When the pirates regain their senses, the woman is gone, leaving the crew to stare slack-jawed at the only one of their members still standing, at Marrow holding a necklace and a wooden stake. First, the omega thinks the look in their eyes is fear, primal fear, pure fear, for everyone’s fear smells much the same in the face of death, whether they’re an alpha, a beta, or an omega. 

But then, he recognises a flicker of hope like a candle that refuses to die through the darkest of nights. Then, while he can barely believe it, he recognises respect. 

Apart from Marrow, no one has noticed yet that Clover has gone missing.

* * *

Clover is not sure what happened. Clover is not sure how he survived. At first, he is not even sure he survived, but then his stomach lurches violently, forcibly bringing him back to his senses and ripping him out of the tunnel that was his world, the tunnel that was his mind. 

Keening over, he empties the contents of his stomach onto the wooden floor. There is a bed and a nightstand in the corner, he must be in one of the inn’s rooms upstairs of the bar, someone must have dragged him there. When he’s done, he hears a female tone utter a distinct, unimpressed snort. 

He looks up - and he recognises her now. She must be Qrow’s twin, the other one of the Twins. A mermaid, and also a vampire, and likely also a werewolf. One of her kind, alongside her brother. She must be the one they encountered on the ship’s deck, the one that threw the Captain overboard and would have killed them weren’t it for Marrow’s ingenuity and silver rosary. 

“Why did you save me?” he utters raspily, wiping the filth from his pitiful mouth. 

“Call that saving, pirate? I merely wish to be the one to kill you, if it turns out you hurt my brother.”

“... Qrow?”

“Ah, so you’re not entirely stupid. I can pick it up in your scent. You’re courting the alpha he is bonded to. If you hurt a single hair on Qrow’s head in your courtship of his mate, rest assured that I will torture you to insanity with my siren songs, shred you alive with my wolf jaws, and suck all of your blood with my vampire fangs.”

Hot slick miserably pools inside of him at the mere mention of James, and he can barely hold her piercing glare.

“I didn’t hurt him.”

She leans in closer, and he reaches for his scabbard, only to remember his sword is gone. All he has is his medallion and a tiny dagger in his boot. He reaches for it, but in his heat-induced clumsiness, she’s fast to disarm him, flipping the blade so she can angle his face upward with the tip, forcing him to face her.

“Are you speaking the truth, though?” she muses. “I got this potion in the lair of a coven of sea witches, legends say it forces one to speak the truth.”

She extracts a small vial from her pocket, containing a coalescent emerald liquid. 

“Legends say many things,” he spits back weakly. 

“But some legends are true, pirate. One of them is standing right in front of you. Now drink up.”

Forcing his lips open, she pours but a drop down his parched, burning throat. And it burns, and it hurts, and everything hurts. 

“I… did not… hurt your brother,” he repeats, sputtering in pain as rivulets of green run down his coughing lips, down his soiled chin before he regurgitates once more onto the tip of her boots, leaving her rather mildly annoyed. 

“Well, if you hurt him, you know what awaits you.”

“I know, and I accept the consequences… but please, just don’t hurt the crew.”

“Or what?” she scoffs. “Think you can do anything to stop me? Your crew was just lucky the last couple of times that there’s plenty of proverbial fish in the sea and you guys weren’t worth the trouble.”

He does not respond. Instead, he latches onto the thick red scarf around her neck and tugs, revealing the burn marks left by the silver beads of Marrow’s rosary. 

Savagely, she pulls back. 

“This village thinks you’re a peaceful, if reclusive innkeeper,” he says, slowly, deliberately. “If you hurt a single hair of the Iron Judgement’s crew, I will make sure your secret is revealed to the rest of the village - you and your family will be treated as pariahs, there will be a witch hunt, and you will end up having to leave behind this island and those you love In the best case scenario, that is. And when I speak of the Iron Judgement’s crew, that includes James, by the way.”

A rictus twists the corner of her mouth, and the most fleeting panic dances in her vermillion eyes. He has found her weakness, and he knows it. 

“I wouldn’t hurt my own brother’s mate unless he breaks my brother’s heart,” she finally replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I thought you’d have figured that out by now, you idiot.”

“Then, we have an agreement,” the sympathetic beta reasserts, a semi-lucid light flickering in his heat-clouded gaze. 

“Then, I don’t need to lose more time with you,” she decretes, walking out without another word. 

He does not dare step downstairs again - but outside the room’s window, the crescent moon shines, and he knows he can find a way out.

* * *

“I cannot, Clover,” James repeats, teeth clenched in a desperate attempt to resist temptation, too alluring temptation. “I will not, at least not until your heat is over.”

The moon is high, Qrow must have gone out hunting. Clover found James alone when he reached the cave, and immediately threw himself at the alpha, craving a safe haven in his arms.

“But James… is it a bad time to tell you I’ve cared for you for years? Practically since we met, back in the navy?”

There is a tremor in the beta’s voice. He’s all but dry humping onto the alpha’s thigh, but strong, certain hands push him away. He has no idea where he found the strength to walk all the way across the island, but he did. Just in hope James would have him, claim him, and end his torment. There are tears within his aqua eyes, and when they spill they leave trails of stars beneath the distant moonlight.

“I have always cared for you,” James says, “and still care for you deeply. But you’re not in your right mind, your heat is clouding your judgement. You should get some rest.”

There is a tentative onslaught of searing lips against Ironwood’s - the alpha does not recoil away, but does not give in either. Instead, he remains calm, composed, stable.

James is as steady as the silent, stable orbits of the planets in the starry sky. His moral compass is unbent, reaching for the constellations and away from earthly temptations. The alpha will not budge, will not bend, will not break. He is a hero, when others cannot be. He is a hero, so others do not have to be heroic. So others have the right to be weak. Others can be weak, Clover can be weak, desperate, all but throwing himself at his former Captain in the dark intimacy of the caves at night - but James will not budge, James will not yield.

And Clover does not understand why. Or rather, he fears to understand why. 

“Is this about Qrow?” 

The alpha, Clover’s alpha is no longer his, now. He is mated to another. Clover had so many chances, but he was too weak to seize them, and now...

“No, it’s not about… I mean yes. It is about Qrow. As in, about what I did to Qrow.”

James never yields. Never budges, never bends, never breaks - until he does, and then the heavens and hells break loose. And everytime he closes his eyes now, all hells, all heavens still break loose inside his head. He remembers everything, blames himself for everything, for the pain, the pleasure he inflicted onto a loved one when they thought they had no other choice, for the mating bond he enforced onto Qrow when the omega had no other option but to accept.

There is a storm trapped within the alpha’s head, leaking out of those evening blue eyes. But Clover can read those eyes, he has known James for too long, far too long. Clover can read the storm, like a seasoned sailor watching the sea, and he can face the storm, for James does not have to face it alone. That’s the least he could do for James… if only the former Captain would let him. 

“You hurt him when he was in heat? Or were you in rut?”

“When he transformed me, that triggered a rut, and I hurt him so deeply his body went into a panic heat, because I couldn’t control myself. There is not a single second of the eternity I now have to live through where I don’t regret it. I would never forgive myself if I lost control and hurt you too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry, Clover. But I cannot.”

Determination in each and every of his steps, James walks away toward the ancient ship wreckage, leaving the human longing and feverish and alone. 

From the entrance of the cave, soft crimson eyes watch through the darkness.

* * *

The night is still young. James still has time to go hunting and return before sunrise. 

So he goes hunting that night. And the next night. And the next night. Each night, he brings back game from the forest or fish from the sea. Qrow drinks their blood fresh, while the helpless creatures still writhe within his grasp. Clover has to make a fire and cooks the meat. Hunting helps James keep his distance, helps him stay in control. 

In his way, James is helping. But when the night comes and the alpha is away, Qrow is there to help. 

There is a silent, secret agreement between all three of them. Clover doesn’t comment much, they don’t talk much. They don't need to talk. Even time passes feverishly, everything’s too hot, everything’s too cold, freezingly slow, agonisingly slow. There is a steady undercurrent of understanding that doesn’t need words, that is too true for words. 

There is a gentleness the beta almost never dared to hope he’d find in such an inhuman being, devoid of warmth, devoid of a heartbeat. A gentleness in each of Qrow’s touches when he brings the human the right herbs and algae to calm his fevers and his aches, when he tends to Clover’s superficial wounds by dabbing healing merman saliva, when he rubs cold saltwater onto the beta’s overheated skin. 

There is a calm that Clover has only witnessed between two storms before, throughout a lifetime at sea. There is a calm, an easy silence between them, except that a tempest never comes. A tempest doesn’t need to come. 

At this latitude, nightfall comes quickly. Daylight hardly lingers, gracing the sand with its vermillion rays and transmuting the seafoam to gold. When the moon rises, a twinkle of mischief sparks ablaze in the hybrid’s eyes. 

Clover doesn’t know what to expect. But somehow, silently, he knows he can trust Qrow. 

* * *

“Are we still far away?” the beta prompts, face buried in the hybrid’s feathery hair, gently buffeted by the breeze. 

“That’s rude,” Qrow snaps back. “Considering I’ve been carrying you all the way there, and you just have to hang on to my back. Are you gonna tell me those pretty arms of yours hurt, next?”

“So you like my arms, huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much,” the omega huffs, glaring skyward before readjusting Clover’s arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders.

The brunette’s biceps ache, but his whole body aches too, thrumming with constant tremor until his bones started hurting. But Qrow has a point, so Clover won’t whine anymore. Qrow doesn’t have to help out a human he barely knows, a human who attacked him the first time they met. As an omega, the hybrid is not affected by the heat pheromones - no base instincts drive him to protect Clover, no base instincts even make him care. Yet, somehow, he does care. Yet, somehow, he’s still there. Qrow didn’t have anything to gain for sparing Clover, the man who’d been courting his alpha, at any point. Yet, for some reason, he did. 

He most certainly does not have to carry Clover on his back to take him to this secret location he promises the human will love - yet, he does anyway. Vampire eyes seeing clearly through the darkness, nimble feet hopping on the stony cliffside from hill to hill, from cove to cove, Qrow supports the beta’s weight as though he were as light as a feather. His footsteps are hasty over the backdrop of regular tides, tenderly pulled by the watchful moon. Just his luck, a rock is knocked loose as he prances, tumbling down the cliff’s edge and eliciting a surprised gasp from Clover. 

Exasperated with his whimpering burden’s antics, Qrow lets out a sigh before tossing the pirate over his shoulder and into the waves. 

It’s cold. The water is cold, the night is cold, the darkness is cold. But at least, the cold quenches the throes of his heat, at least for now. There is no up, there is no down, just icy darkness and a myriad of fleeting bubbles, silvery under the moonlight, as Clover struggles to find the surface. Eventually, he manages to resurface, drawing a deep breath, and another one, and another one. With a strong breaststroke, he swims toward the shore until he can gain his footing on the sandy seabed. 

And then - he can see it. It is everything Qrow promised, and then some. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“Told you so,” the omega replies, twirling in his merman form around Clover. 

Just off the shore, the sea is light, as if the stars have come to drown there, as if they have come to wash ashore, shining blue. Each twinkling star, floating languidly in the shallow water, is a jellyfish - dangerous, deadly, and shining blue. Their luminescence lights the star sky from below, spreading out on either side of the secret cove, spreading out toward the horizon. Electric blues, rich indigoes, vibrant teals - a carnival of shades dappling translucent, buoyant bodies and lazily lolling tentacles. A mere touch of these creatures can be lethal, Clover knows, yet there is a beauty in danger that prevents him from looking away, keeping him utterly captivated. 

“They’re tasty too,” Qrow points out, interrupting the human’s fascinated thoughts by swimming toward the creatures and returning, much to Clover’s horror, with a jellyfish whose tentacles helplessly writhe and thrash between his sharp fangs as it’s being swallowed whole.

Clover turns to face the merman, suddenly remembering the hybrid is just as dangerous, able to end him even faster than any of these venomous beasts, and singularly beautiful in the eerie lighting, the cold azures caressing the sharp angle of his chiselled cheekbones in stark contrast with the warmth of his eyes.

Suddenly, the omega turns away bashfully, concealing his body beneath the waves as the human notices him shifting back into his vampire form to stand next to Clover, still submerged to the waist in water to cool down the heat that shamefully pools between his legs. Blue light graces the elegant curve of Qrow’s clavicle, and Clover deduces the hybrid must’ve discarded his clothing before joining him in the water, his nakedness likely explaining his sudden timidity.

“You don’t need to hide, you know,” he leans down to whisper into the vampire’s ear. “You’re really beautiful.”

“What if I want to hide?” the omega retorts gruffly.

“You shouldn’t do that, you know?”

“What, hide, even though I want to?”

“I meant, deflect a compliment.”

“But that’s not beautiful… at least, not anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

Clover hasn’t noticed that before, but under the moon’s pearly light, over the sea’s pulsating hues, the crisscross of faint scars against the vampire’s alabaster skin glisten as bright as so many constellations. His heart tightening in his throat, the pirate recognises shallow marks from fishing hooks and harpoons, sickeningly curved burn lines from whips and rope nets. He recognises the trace of teeth, and the more recent memory of fangs peppering the skin with small scars like a series of pearl necklaces from his clavicle all the way down to his shoulders and arms. 

James has done more damage than Clover had realised, leaving more brokenness in his wake than Clover could have imagined, only beginning to fathom the extent of his Captain’s guilt and trauma over what happened.

But out of brokenness, there can be beauty.

“Hey,” the beta murmurs. “Every scar is a testimony of how brave and strong you’ve been, of how many have tried to hurt or kill you and failed.”

“I was just unlucky enough to survive. There is nothing strong about that.”

The words hurt. The silence between them hurts. Everything hurts. At least, the cold waves are somewhat soothing.

“No, that’s not what I meant, Qrow. You were hurt so many times, they’ve bent you but never broken you. They’ve never broken your hope, never broken your soul. You know, when James lost his leg he could’ve retired with a pension, but he persisted for the love of his job and his crew, and I always admired and respected that. You could have grown to hate us, the merciless pirates that hunt down you and your kind to sell your scales and bones at twice the price of gold - but you never gave up on your humanity. You didn’t have to save James, you didn’t have to save me, yet you still did, because of that humanity. And I think that’s beautiful.”

“I could’ve killed him. I could’ve killed you. I’m not gonna lie, the thought crossed my mind. But then I’d have been alone again. And I don’t want to be alone. Now I’m scared of being alone again.”

The hybrid falters, his voice almost breaks.

“That’s okay. You can be scared. But you don’t have to be alone.” 

In beauty, there is brokenness, and sometimes brokenness cannot be repaired. The mood has shifted, now it’s damaged, ruined, broken. But Clover strives to repair things, to say something, to do something to lighten the atmosphere.

“You know what? You could have told me we were going skinny dipping,” the pirate jokes. ”I’d have respected the dress code. Hey, I’ll take off my clothes so you’re not naked alone.”

Qrow lets out a fond snort as the beta hastily strips, tossing his soaked garments onto a nearby rock, sighing in relief as chill water caresses his feverish skin.

“Don’t make this more awkward, lucky charm.” 

“Can’t be more awkward than intentionally going into heat and whining about suffering the consequences.”

“That wasn’t awkward. That was foolish, incredibly so. But brave.”

“Really?”

“You said you stepped into a bar full of pent up alphas while in heat, just to prove a point. You could’ve been hurt. Or worse. That was foolish of you.”

“I know that part.”

“You risked your life stepping into that inn, and you knew that full well, but you did it anyway. And if that’s not bravery, I don’t know what is.”

Clover swallows audibly, his throat suddenly tight and uncomfortable.

“Well… I just had that stupid, selfish hope that if I was in heat, then maybe James would… Do you think he’s staying away from me now because he’s disappointed I tried to tempt him by going into heat? Because now he thinks I’m weak?”

“Nope. Not because you’re weak, but because he wants to be strong for you, and strength for James seems to lie in self-control, in self-restraint. In putting his honour and values before his own pulsions and emotions - and I won’t lie, I love and respect him for that. But there’s strength in bending without breaking, too. There’s strength in giving into your desires, in shamelessly going into heat. You did it not just for James, but also for your young crewmate, the omega boy, and I’m sure he’s grateful for that. You did it for all omegas, to prove that people like us can be Captains too, can be unstoppable too, and I’m immensely grateful for that. That’s not only brave, that’s beautiful.”

To Clover, James has always been an island amidst the waves, scarred and windswept, carved by the force of the elements, but strong as stone, unbending, unbroken, unbreakable. Clover has witnessed the beauty in being an island, but seldom realises the grace there is in being the ocean, being like the teal waves that ever bend, that ever flow, that sometimes break and sometimes crash into seafoam only to heal and rise again, relentlessly, eternally. Clover just needs Qrow’s bird’s eye view, from the chaotic stormy skies above, to realise that being the ocean is not devoid of beauty.

“Uh… thanks,” Clover clears his throat awkwardly.

“What’s that, shamrock? You can dish out compliments, but you can’t take them?”

Qrow gives him a playful shove in the shoulder, his inhuman strength almost overbearing for the beta in his weakened state. 

“I’m not too sure what you mean...”

A small smile playing at his lips, Clover grabs a handful of the vampire’s arm and shoves him back, their bodies colliding until somehow their fingers find each other in the water, in the darkness, and remain intertwined.

“I mean you’re quick to find good traits in others, but you could use someone to remind you of your own qualities, and that’s okay because you’re not alone. I mean you’re brave, selfless, and strong in your own way, and no one can fault you for that. I mean you’re very handsome too.”

The hybrid only realises belatedly what he’s said, his gaze suddenly downcast as a furious blush tints his cheeks - lighting them rather adorably pale blue like the blood he just consumed.

“Thank you, Qrow, it means a lot to me.”

The touch of wet skin against wet skin is different, smooth, too smooth, almost ethereal. Forearms, fingers, arms glide frictionlessly against one another, and even as there is a hesitation, a pause stolen from time and from the cosmos, they glide soundlessly. Until suddenly they are close, impossibly close, and Qrow perks up to land a soft peck atop Clover’s forehead. 

The beta lets out a soft, surprised whimper. There is another silent instant, heavy and heavenly, before somehow their lips meet halfway, locking into a passionate kiss. They don’t know who initiated it, only that their lips clash tenderly, messily like waves that come to crash and coalesce, again and again with inevitability. 

There is inevitability, softly lulling them back to each other every time they part to breathe. But there is no urgency, no despair, only slow, deliberate mapping of each other’s mouths. Their lips are like gateways to secret coves that conceal beautiful beaches, that conceal beautiful, brave, bent, unbroken souls that deserve to be worshipped and accepted for what they are. There is no primal urge in Clover’s heat-addled mind to mate with the omega, neither do the beta’s sex pheromones influence the vampire’s desire. There are no unbreakable threads that weave their souls together into constellations, no gravity that binds them and forces them to become one. 

They are stardust, left by the wayside by gravity and destiny, left to freely choose their own explorations at their leisurely pace. They are stardust, and no one can judge them for kissing again and again under the glowering moonlight, over the starry sea.

They are stardust, turbulent and messy amongst the unfurled waves, and soon enough, as open-mouthed kisses turn hot and needy, wayward hands roaming across alluring planes of wet skin, Clover can see where this is heading...

“Stop…” he pants out, a plea, a whisper, “please stop.”

“Something wrong?” 

Qrow pulls back immediately, anxiety lacing his tone.

“I’m worried what we’re doing will trigger my rut.”

Cursing under his breath, cursing in his head, cursing in every possible corner of his mind for having neglected this possibility, the omega disengages from their heated embrace, leading the human to a corner of the beach outside the water where the sun cannot reach when it rises. On the way, Clover recovers his clothes, making sure he doesn’t misplace his silver medallion containing a lock of his niece’s hair.

“You took your rut suppressants, right?” Qrow verifies.

“I did, but my body is an exhausted mess of hormones right now, so I can’t be sure how well the suppressants will work.”

“Then the best thing you can do is rest and recover. Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you.”

“It’s hot here...”

A sheen of sweat already forms over Clover’s brow as the hybrid helps him to a lower position on the fine, smooth sand. 

“This better?” Qrow prompts, wrapping himself tightly around the human to press his cold-skinned long limbs against Clover’s clammy body.

“... Yeah,” the pirate hums, already drifting into deep sleep in the vampire’s embrace.

* * *

The scent of his own mate and the pheromones of a sympathetic beta in heat aren’t hard to track down for a vampire’s predator nostrils. When James finds Clover and Qrow, they lay fast asleep on the beach, limbs entangled and features finally relaxed. Unable to hold back an endeared smile, the alpha carefully picks them up so as not to wake them, making use of his superhuman strength to easily carry both of them back to the nest, a slumbering man on each shoulder. 

Too exhausted to wake, the brunette does not even stir, but the hybrid rouses briefly, eyelids fluttering open as he stares up at James through long black eyelashes, crimson irised full of confusion and a hint of panic. A gentle smile on his lips, the alpha places a sloppy kiss onto Qrow’s lips, activating the salivary glands that render vampire spit slightly sedative to lull his mate securely back to sleep. 

Eventually, he drops them both into the familiar nest of blankets, where they instantly start to sleepily cuddle. The night is growing chill, a breeze howling through the grotto, so James throws a blanket over them to make sure they do not catch cold.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry (belated) xmas to SykoShadowRose, and happy new year too (yeah it's that belated)! Hope you enjoy :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised this chapter is mostly smut ;)

The air shimmers with a clarity akin to sunlight after the storm, as if the slumbering world were still covered in a coat of dew droplets. The colours are vivid, but the scents are muted, the recognisable smell of sea salt reaching Clover’s nostrils. The overbearing odour, the overbearing want, need, crave of an alpha has subsided now, and the sympathetic beta can inhale slowly, comfortably cuddling up to Qrow’s bare chest. 

“How are you feeling?” the hybrid asks softly. 

The realisation that his heat is finally over still slowly dawns over Clover’s mind. 

“Better,” he replies after a brief instant. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“No worries,” the vampire assures, pressing a gentle kiss to the brunette’s hair. “I’m certain you would have done the same for James or myself.”

“Does that mean that now we can...” Clover hesitates, running his fingers through feathery hair while contemplating how soft, full, flawless Qrow’s lips look.

Now that the throes of the beta’s heat are finally behind him, now that he can in his right might consent to be the receptacle of the two vampires’ full attention and affection…

“I think there is a little something James wants to show us first,” the omega replies with a small smirk, springing to his feet and offering the human a hand to step out of the nest and into the next cave. 

Indeed, James has something to show to both of his lovers. Qrow must have sensed it through the psychic link that binds him to the alpha - but even so, his jaw drops at the sight that awaits them. A proud product of the single-minded power of Ironwood’s determination, the ship that was once but a wreck among the labyrinth of the grottoes now stands tall, her hull stitched together, her masts pointing straight at the sky. Her sails hang languidly in the humid air, buffeted by the breeze from the sea. 

Using his vampire strength, speed, and stamina, working through nights to get wood from the forest, working through days to fix each mangled crack, replace each damaged plank, working to distract himself from the tempting sirens of Clover’s heat pheromones, James has restored her to a semblance of her former glory. She is scarred, but she is sturdy. She is small, but she is built for speed. She is shaped and sized ideally to house the three of them, by day in the small hold beneath the planks and by night on the deck under the starry sky. 

“I hope you appreciate her,” James says simply, looking down at his calloused hands.

“I love her!” Clover exclaims, running up to wrap his former captain in a tight hug. “Thank you so much!”

“Not bad, Jimmy,” Qrow grumbles with a warm twinkle in his crimson eyes. “That old piece of driftwood wasn’t so worthless after all, since I see it served as an outlet for your carpentry hobby.”

“Do you not like it?” the human wonders as a slight frown creases his brow. 

“Qrow just has his own way of expressing adoration,” James fondly clarifies to Clover using his bond with the omega. 

Indeed, the hybrid’s fingers are tracing down the wood’s grains, inspecting the result of his mate’s handiwork. 

“Should we test her robustness by christening her?” the omega winks, using his superior strength to pounce onto the deck in one single jump. 

“It’s still daylight out,” James protests, before realising Qrow’s suggestive meaning and springing onto the planks after him.

Before Qrow can even turn around, Ironwood’s mouth is pressed against his neck, trailing a series of open-mouthed kisses down the line of his spine. Sharp fangs pepper the skin with crimson stars, healing quasi-instantly and leaving nothing but stains and flurries of tingles. The omega lets out a needy whine, desperately leaning back into the touch. 

He needs more, always more of those wet lips, of that thick beard, of those deadly teeth caressing him while strong hands cradle him, causing him to unravel as fast as they can construct vessels out of chaos. There is a certainty when calloused fingers grip his hips, holding him in place - and then there is Clover. 

James’s mouth is cold, hard, lethally precise as the razor-sharp, diamond hard edge of vampiric fangs mark the skin into a map of constellations - but Clover’s lips are a furnace, firm, frantic,  _ alive _ . The pulsation of the beta’s heartbeat is maddening, all-encompassing as the beta engulfs Qrow’s length, eagerly swallowing all the slick already leaking out of the hybrid. His insistent tongue is soft, sloppy as it circles over the omega’s weeping tip. Qrow arches back into James at that, drawing an impatient growl from the demanding alpha. 

What the alpha wants, the alpha can have. There is a shiver that races down Qrow’s spine at the speed of frozen lightning. There is desire, all-consuming desire, and then there is a shimmer of scales. When he is done shifting, the hybrid falls flat on his back on the deck, his shark tail flapping from side to side with excitement as his fins flutter as if for dear life. His hands scramble through the planks, helplessly attempting to hold on as both his scaly erections, attached to the pair of fins on his abdomen, beg for attention - attention that is soon granted by both of his inevitable enticed lovers. 

There is a silent, solemn question in James’s cobalt eyes - but Qrow trusts him with his life, with his everything, and then some. Qrow trusts him, nodding feverishly as Clover already takes one of the two shafts into his mouth, his head of tousled chestnut hair bobbing up and down skillfully. A beat of hesitation later, James takes the other member between his lips, retracting his fangs as much as he possibly can and letting his tongue deftly do the work. 

The symmetry, the eagerness with which both men devour the merman’s erections, bearded jaw rubbing, chafing, tickling against clean-shaven cheeks. The contrast - Clover’s overwhelming warmth, Ironwood’s coldness, the beta’s excitedly erratic pace savouring the edges of each scale, the vampire’s meticulous regularity careful not to hurt his omega. Nothing makes sense, time cannot sense in the face of so many contradictions, and Qrow cannot tell how long he lasts before his orgasm tears through him, dripping copious amounts of slick down both his lovers’ throats. 

A pause follows, weightless as the tide rocks the ship and the hybrid moans at the loss of heat, the loss of pressure around his spent manhoods. The omega wants, needs, craves, and the two pirates share a long stare, ready to give all that he ever needs. Then, James draws Clover into a passionate kiss, and it is a permission, a blessing, a gift of undying trust as the human responds fervently, teal eyes sliding desperately closed. Qrow’s wanton hole twitches at that mere sight, at the mere notion of both men whose strength and softness and savage beauty he’s come to respect, admire, and love embracing before his eyes, for his eyes only. 

With infinite, infinite gentleness, Clover’s fingers grace the omega’s hips, pinning him into position with the practice of a pirate handling the rudder and bending the seas to his will with the force of his merely human hands. Teal irises meet red before Qrow closes his eyes, savouring the sensation of Clover slipping into him. His walls are covered in slick, easing the passage of the beta’s manhood, but still the brunette is slow, deliberately slow and careful, incredibly careful. 

A sudden cry escapes the hybrid’s lips as the cock within him swells, the sympathetic beta’s length and knot expanding to match an alpha’s size in response to the prone omega’s body. Qrow quivers at the sudden sensation, as his unravelling mind tries to memorise everything - Clover’s size, his delicious width, his delectable curvature, his considerable knot parting the omega’s entrance to the uttermost point. 

Then a thrust rocks them - but it does not come from Clover. The brunette’s body simply responds and rams into Qrow like a boat moved by a crashing wave amidst the unleashed tempest. Instead, it comes from James. The vampire has climbed over the beta,  _ his  _ beta’s body, slotting himself into the human’s opening. 

There is something careful, almost tentative about the way Ironwood slams into his former subordinate - but even James cannot control the three body problem, the chaos as Clover rocks back to meet him at each of his thrusts, the turbulence as the shark tail thrashes between the alpha and the beta’s legs. Qrow’s heightened vampiric senses can perceive it all, every time Clover’s member hits the bundle of nerves that makes his whole body squirm with pleasure, every time Clover writhes under the alpha’s powerful thrusts, toes curling against the wooden deck. The three of them are but mingling waves, colliding, coalescing amidst the stormy sea, waves of cold liquids that come to crash, come to crest within each other, and their cresting climaxes are soon ineluctable. 

Amidst the frozen storm, amidst the cold ocean, there is warmth. There is a drop of warmth - a drop of redness clattered onto Qrow’s face from Clover’s sculptural shoulder where James has bitten down, claiming the sympathetic beta, marking Clover as his. There is but a drop - and that is enough to send Qrow over the edge, an ocean of incoherent bliss unfurling through his mind. Through the overbearing sensations, Clover’s mouth is an anchor, a gentleness, a safety, kissing the omega soundly before trailing down the arch of his jaw, the curve of his neck, and hovering at his pulse point - a question, a wordless question, an inevitable question. 

All Qrow can muster is a weak nod. Then, Clover’s teeth sink in, almost piercing the alabaster skin - and a new bond forms, overflowing with love, overflowing with care, with desire, with respect, with lust, with admiration, in sudden resonance with Qrow’s thrumming link with James. The bonds are constellations that tie them through the vastness of space, that anchor them through the turmoils of the dangerous ocean, and they find each other easily, Qrow’s lips meeting the alpha’s over the human’s shoulder without hesitation, into a languid kiss as simple and natural as the wind pulls the waves. 

The vibration, the synchrony is nearly too much for their bodies and minds as they lay on the deck of their successfully christened vessel, the fully inflated knots keeping the three of them linked together whatever the storms and fates may unleash in their direction. 

* * *

It takes days before they can depart from the island - days during which Qrow bids farewell from his family, albeit temporarily, days during which Clover and James visit Marrow and aid him from afar in his first days as captain aboard the Iron Judgement. It takes days before they can set sail, and then it takes days before the full moon rises. 

“Are you sure?” Qrow repeats, gently running his fingers through Clover’s hair as they sit below deck, the moonlight barely drifting through the wooden planks and thick clouds overhead. It is a stormy night outside. 

“Yes, absolutely,” the beta replies with a genuine smile that reaches the tawny, salty creases around his breathtaking teal eyes. 

They have fallen into a cadenza that seems as an inevitability. By day, Clover runs the ship while the vampires hide away from the sunlight, steering the rudder, pulling the sails, fixing anything that needs to be repaired. By night, while he rests, James and Qrow hunt. They hunt to sate their thirst for blood, they hunt to feed Clover and feed from his warm human blood, they hunt to fill the ship’s hold with treasures and relics of legendary sea creatures James yearn to track down and sell in exchange for wood, weapons, tools, anything they need to maintain the ship, to maintain their pace of life as tranquil and inevitable as the moon pulls the tide. 

“Do you still insist on transformations occurring during sex?” James asks, arching a brow in Qrow’s direction. 

“Trust me, the pain is much less worse when there’s the pleasure,” the hybrid responds with a knowing smirk. 

It was always silently evident that Clover would choose to be turned into a werewolf rather than a vampire, joining both his mates in immortality. Clover always knew that he’d want the sunlight to kiss his skin the deck of their small ship, that he’d want to be able to visit his niece on the mainland in broad daylight. He cannot wear his silver locket any more since he became a werewolf’s mate - but he keeps the crimson curls securely in his pocket, admiring how they glisten under the sprinkled starlight. 

As the moon slowly reaches the apex of its course, James has had time to ready himself. A tender smile graces his features as he lies flat on his back amidst the blankets, waiting with his hardening manhood in hand for Qrow to climb onto him. He lifts his hand to cup the omega’s face, hypersensitive vampire skin relishing in the roughness of slight stubble, in the softness of pallid, pliant cheeks. The hybrid smiles back - and then there is tightness, familiar tightness, incredible tightness descending around his erect member as his omega rides him with practised confidence. 

There has been crepuscular zones where the sun meets the sea and day and night mingle like currents of different colour, and the three of them have spent copious hours at these magical hours mapping each other’s bodies, cartographing each other like unknown seas and undiscovered islands, learning each other’s curves sharp edges and gentle curves, each other’s perfections and infinitely enticing imperfections. So as the omega expertly rides him, eliciting a volley of whines and whimpers with his wickedly chaotic pace, James has memorised exactly how to buck his hips in response, ramming himself into the right spot where the stars align and each of Qrow’s nerve endings sing in pure pleasure. 

Clover cannot help admire the way the hybrid throws back his head through the throes of passion, unkempt raven hair dancing in the darkness, a drop of golden moonlight pooling at the chiselled angle of his chin, dripping down the curve of his neck, around the roundness of his adam’s apple. Then, supple and swift as sea water, Qrow bends down to connect his lips to Ironwood’s and the beta recognises his unspoken cue, finally, finally joining the fray as his desperate member craves the contact, craves the attention. 

The brunette is already rock hard by the time he presses his chest to Qrow’s back, parting the omega’s moonlight-streaked dimpled butt cheeks before inserting himself into their omega’s entrance already dripping with slick. The darkness inside him stretched impossibly wide by his two mates buried to the knot within him, James below and Clover above, Qrow lets out a helpless moan into the alpha’s mouth, into the snarling kiss that is a teasing tempest of fangs, a gentle caress of tongues, as soft as it is savage, as violent as it is vulnerable. 

Teal eyes squeeze shut in pure bliss as they both move within Qrow, the hybrid’s hole clenching and throbbing in response. The way Clover’s manhood brushes against the alpha’s is almost ethereal as if their skins were touching underwater with that deliberate smoothness, with that obsessive pressure that slows them down to a near stop, that slows the collisions between their expanding knots, that slows the stars and the moon on their courses. 

For Qrow’s opening, stretched to the utmost, can barely accommodate their movements, and running his fingers against the hybrid’s lithe abdomen, Clover can sense the moving mounds made by his own cock and his former captain’s, rippling the skin like stormy waves crease the sea bed, and the sand remembers. That feeling alone is exhilarating, but already the beta’s hand travels upward, crossing expanses of pale chest and teasing sensitive nipples until they harden, until broken, plaintive mewls can no longer be contained by Qrow’s lips.

As he gasps for air, for dear life, the omega regretfully parts from James’s lips, sensing the briefest pressure of a cold tongue tip worshipping his cupid’s bow, insistent yet tender enough to make Qrow squirm. He tries to press a hand to the floor to steady himself - but the ship sways, the world sways, the world spins so fast it blurs every time his mates thrust into him, his sore prostate virtually constantly stimulated by their fully sheathed members. Stars burst in and out of existence before his eyes, as if the deck overhead vanishes away, as if all that gleams above is the starry sky and the blinding moon, the blinding full moon, floating precariously as if about to drop out of the sky…

But soon the moon will recede into the sea, recede behind the horizon, and Qrow cannot surrender to that alluring gravity now. He has a job to do. He has a werewolf to turn, and he can only do this when the full moon is high. Clover’s hand crawls up his chest, all the way to his before his lips, his wrist turned upward as an offering, as a forbidden fruit, as a sign of complete, utter trust. The veins that pulsate softly, trembling,  _ alive  _ are like a flower’s roots, and when the omega bites down, red blossoms. 

Clover can almost instantly sense the venom that laces the bite - too many sensations flood his blood vessels with the turbulent violence of a riptide. Fire trickles down each one of his nerves until the tension grows, crackles,  _ growls _ . Each pore of his skin growls, each hair upon him growls and stands on end as a shiver ripples down his spine, swarming, burning. And then, there is a clarity, a maddened clarity that can only exist in the eye of the storm, and each detail comes to full bloom - each hump, each bump of Qrow’s arched spine pressed against the beta’s abdomen, each flowery, each impossibly sweet note of the omega’s scent and each musky tone of the alpha’s pheromones, all suddenly precise like like footprints on crestfallen snow.

There is a clarity in the eye of the storm, and then the moonlight drifts in. 

Stripes of parallel silver fall onto their entwined bodies, curved by the hull of the ship, creasing around each muscle of Clover’s defined back, around each line of Qrow’s writhing legs, against each scar of James’s steady torso. There is a clarity, and then darkness grows - darkness grows, sprawling out of perfect parallels, breaking perfect symmetry, and darkness growls. 

Everything growls, the sky above Qrow’s head growls as the celestial bodies fall away into the darkness and the darkness growls - but he barely notices. The beta’s strong limbs around him stretch impossibly, bones and angles looking wrong as they rearrange in a series of sickening crunches - but Qrow barely notices. In lieu of the smooth human skin caressing the omega’s trembling back is a thick coat of fur, chestnut brown fur streaked by parallel moonlight - but Qrow barely notices. 

Because overtaking his senses, overtaking the insides of the hybrid and filling him to a point he never knew was even possible, is Clover’s knotted cock, its size proportional to the giant werewolf whose shadow towers high over Qrow and James, its head thrown back to howl at the full moon.

Clear as moonlight, dappled with stars, tears drip down the hybrid’s cheeks as a mind-shattering climax crashes through him, icy, burning, and it makes no sense, nothing makes sense, nothing exists but the excruciating pain and pleasure chasing each other like the sun and the moon, coalescing like each wave and the next into maelstroms that threaten to mercifully engulf his broken mind...

There is but a vague sensation as Qrow is brutally yanked away and tossed to the hard wooden floor, the wrecked insides of him suddenly empty, painfully empty. There is a shadow above him standing proud and brave as the alpha snarls at the canine, for James can stop at nothing, shall stop at nothing, will stop at nothing to protect the omega,  _ his _ omega. Even Ironwood’s tall stature is dwarfed by the werewolf whose brown ears touch the deck’s planks overhead - but the alpha will not stay back, will not budge, will not yield. 

There is strength in James’s stand, ever steady, ever unbreakable - but there is also strength in all Qrow can take, and even as he lies weakly, brokenly quivering on the wooden planks, in how much he can give. And even as he can barely cling to consciousness, he continues giving. And both the vampire and the werewolf swivel around, momentarily distracted as the omega's scent peaks in a last ditch conscious effort to distract them from their stand-off. 

Qrow's scent is soothing like summer fruit under the slow sunset. Like pearlescent seafoam on the hot silver sand. Like mornings after the storm, when the smell of rain still clings to the air and everything is beautiful, even shattered shipwrecks are beautiful. For a second, Clover falters - and the next instant, James is there. 

There is strength in James’s stand. There is a threatening instinct that pushes him to protect his omega from danger, despite the calming scent that says it is alright, that everything is going to be alright. There is a wounded instinct that pushes him to stand and fight, the scars at his side sorely reminding him of what those wolf-like creatures are capable of, of how one hurt James, of how one just hurt Qrow, even unwillingly. 

The vampire can sense through their bond that Clover’s mind has lost control, a maddened snarl distorting his mouth and baring his deadly fangs under the full moon. The man Ironwood loves is nothing like the beast that stands before him, the beast that could end him and Qrow and their ship with a mere flick of its claws. There is unwavering strength as James steps forward in the dark, as if ready to stand, ready to fight.

And James stands strong, but he does not fight. Instead, he presses a calm, steady hand onto the center of the werewolf’s forehead, caressing the soft chestnut fur. Then, he moves in closer, presses on further, but with boundless gentleness, resting his own forehead against the giant canine’s where his hand resided. The searing warmth of the beta’s breath touches Ironwood’s face, the scent of his possessive pheromones saturating the vampire’s sensitive nostrils. 

Clover takes a deep breath, then another, then another. The vampire’s cold digits rummage up and down his warm fur at each respiration, while his lips whisper sweet nothings into his mate’s wolf ears. There is trust, absolute trust in the way strong hands caress him, exerting no pressure to restrain him, trusting with utter certainty that he cannot hurt Qrow, that he will never hurt Qrow. There is trust that vibrates through their bond, trust that transcends time, and Clover cannot tell how much time has elapsed, how many waves lulled the ship, how many slow breaths, slow caresses were shared before he finds himself wrapped within James’s arms in a tight hug in his human form, tears of relief straying from aqua eyes.

Relief is tainted with worry, however, as both of them sense Qrow surrendering to the lulling pull of unconsciousness, eyes slowly fluttering closed as his body finally gains much-needed rest after the overstimulation he went through. Everything is alright now, he is safe now. Delicately, both his lovers rearrange him into a more comfortable position, cleaning him and covering him with a warm blanket. Clover leans down to press an apologetic kiss to Qrow’s hand, his heart swelling as he feels the hybrid weakly stirring in his grasp. 

The omega lets out a soft whimper as he rouses, prompting James to kiss away the tears down his face with obstinate gentleness while the brunette offers his wrist, feeding Qrow his blood to help him regain his forces in his weakened state. 

“I was worried I would hurt you both,” the sympathetic beta confesses after a few moonlit instants. 

“You didn’t,” James responds. “We knew you would not completely lose control, because we trust you and we love you.”

A shared breath, a hesitation. A response from Qrow that they can both already sense through their shared bonds while the omega still feeds. Words need not be spoken, but there is a soft solemnity as Clover utters his response over the quiet background of the gentle tide.

“I love you too.”

* * *

The girl on the pier has green eyes, her long red ponytail unfurled by the briny winds flying into her field of vision. The small ship that sails into port has no recognisable pavilion, but she waves excitedly anyway. A man with chestnut hair walks out and wraps her in a strong embrace. His eyes are green too, but green as the sea, green as the waves in the heart of the tempest. Overhead, the sun shines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the (more or less late) series of xmas fics I wrote this year, it was tricky to finish them all but this was fun! Wish you a wonderful start to 2021!

**Author's Note:**

> The next entry is likely to be mostly smut, so be prepared and stay tuned ;)


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